


Day 9-Christmas Songs (RJD 25 Days of Richonne)

by charrrmed



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12965457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charrrmed/pseuds/charrrmed
Summary: It was early Christmas morning in Alexandria, and all through the Grimes household, the members of the family provided their own Christmas music.





	Day 9-Christmas Songs (RJD 25 Days of Richonne)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This one-shot is based on a picture prompt from the Richonne Just Desserts 25 Days of Richonne challenge. You can see the pic on my ff.net profile. Be sure to check out the stories from the other authors, both from the days before and the days ahead, including another fic from me! I hope you enjoy the story!

It was early Christmas morning in Alexandria, and all through the Grimes household, the members of the family provided their own Christmas music.

The first was Rick, who was waltzing with his four-month old daughter in the master bedroom. "City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style. In the air, there's a feeling of Christmas."

He did his best Bing Crosby impression as he crooned Silver Bells, making slow love to the words. His steps were wide and sweeping, making use of the large bedroom. The openness of his movements mirrored the state of his heart. The baby girl in his arms was the result of a post Negan celebration between him and Michonne, and he couldn't be more in love with her if he tried.

Michonne had proudly boasted that she birthed clones, because Ava Cleone Grimes' face was shaped just like hers. Ava's biracial heritage was barely visible in her warm brown color. Even so, Rick couldn't deny her even in his worst nightmare. The shape of her brown eyes, her nose, cheeks, and smile were all him. As his mother was fond of saying: she got them honest.

He and Ava had a rough start. After she was born, Rick couldn't hold her without her screaming her head off. It had been hard not to take it personally. If he'd picked her up when she wasn't crying, she'd cried. If he'd held her when she was already crying, she'd cried harder. It had broken his heart.

It had been an agonizing first month, and despite Michonne's reassurances, he'd become sadder and more insecure about holding his baby. Once he'd realized that it was an issue that wasn't going to let up, he'd gone to see Dr. Carson, who'd moved to Alexandria for the duration of Michonne's pregnancy and had stayed until she was three months postpartum.

Dr. Carson had told Rick that the key was to condition baby Ava to associate him with something positive. Why she cried whenever he held her didn't matter. Babies did that sometimes. Sometimes, they refused to latch onto their mother's breasts to feed. They did what they wanted. Dr. Carson's prescription was for Rick to be the one to pick Ava up and give her to Michonne when she was hungry and stay behind Michonne so that Ava could see him while she drank. If Rick did this consistently, daddy would equal mommy would equal food would equal a happy Ava.

"Hear the snow crunch, see the kids bunch, this is Santa's big day. And above all this bustle, you hear: silver bells…"

He and Ava were now thick as thieves. And above the bustle on the streets outside, he sang to her low in his throat while she grabbed his fuzzy beard, and he spun with her 'round the cold bedroom.

Rick's melody drifted intermittently to Judith's bedroom and into Michonne's ears, but the four-year-old owner of the room frequently drowned him out.

"A star, a star, dancing in the night, with a tail as big as a kite. With a tail as big as a kite."

Judith pulled her pants up and stopped, staring at the wood floor, trying to remember what came next. To help jog her memory, she repeated the last line. "With a tail as big as a kite."

The seconds stretched, and Michonne folded her lips, willing her to remember.

Judith looked up at her.

Michonne's shoulders dropped. "Said the lamb to the little shepherd boy," Michonne hinted.

"Do you hear what I hear-ugghhh! I'm never gonna remember," Judith declared as she dragged herself forward and buried her face in her mother's lap. "I hate this song. It's the worst one," she said, her words muffled in Michonne's fluffy red bathrobe.

"It's not the worst one," Michonne said, smiling as she stroke Judith's wet hair. It was almost as dark as hers, Rick's, and Carl's now. "Tara went overboard with the number of songs she taught you guys. That's why you're having a hard time remembering this one."

Judith lifted her face to look at her mother. "I'm gonna mess up tonight, and it's gonna be the worst-"

"You're not gonna mess up, because I'm gonna be sitting in the front row, singing with you."

"What if you get up and you're not there for this one?"

"I'll be there for this one. I  _promise_."

Judith was still unsure. "I don't wanna sing this one mommy," she said quietly. She didn't want to mess up, especially not in front of her mother. She'd developed a bit of a complex, ever since she was told that, unlike Ava, she'd never been inside her mother's belly. Neither had Carl, but she didn't care about that. She wanted to have been inside her mom's belly.

"You can't let everyone down," Michonne encouraged softly. "Can you?"

"No," Judith responded sourly.

"It's been such a long time since the people from Hilltop, and The Kingdom, and Oceanside have heard little kids sing Christmas songs. Do you see how  _every_ time you guys are practicing, the people here come to watch, and they're smiling and so happy?"

"Yeah."

"That's how happy our guests are going to be. You'll do a great job, but it almost doesn't matter what you'll be singing. We're all just happy to see kids singing. It took a long time to get here. We didn't think we'd ever be here again."

Judith nodded and sat on the floor to put on her socks and sneakers. She didn't understand the full breadth of what Michonne meant about the adults not thinking they'd ever be here again. She knew how things were now. She knew about walkers and danger. She'd seen walkers from a distance, and she'd heard them, and they scared her to death. She'd had more than one nightmare. Apparently things used to be different. There didn't used to be walkers, but everyone said they would tell her that story "one day." For now, she watched Carl and her dad practice shooting, and her dad was teaching her to respect guns. She was learning to put a small one together and take it apart. Her parents said they would teach her to shoot when she turned nine years old, the age Carl was when he'd learned. Nine. Seemed like it would take forever. Not that she was in a hurry. Her "small" gun was heavy.

Morgan was teaching her to fight with a stick, which she absolutely loved. She was working up to using knives, and then, the big one: a sword, like her mom.

"Wouldn't it be great if Santa came tonight?" she asked suddenly. She stood and jumped, splaying her fingers when she landed so that Michonne would give her the verdict.

"Right shoe on right foot and left on left. Good job!" Michonne said as she rushed off the bed and scooped her up for a kiss. She placed her down and went to get her fuzzy tan sweater out of the closet. "I thought we told you Santa wasn't real."

"I know, but he  _could_ be real." Her theory was that, because of the change, the adults forgot that he was real. "Maybe he could come tonight and make everyone smile, like how our singing will."

Michonne laughed, because she knew something that Judith didn't. She returned with the jacket and put it on for her.

"The other kids think it's dad, even though he's not fat," Judith said as she slipped her arms through.

"Oh my God. Saying Santa had a beard a little like daddy is the worst thing Tara could've done to him. He said they all stare at him and whisper when he walks by," she said, laughing.

"They do. We think he hides his fat when it's not Christmas."

"We?" Michonne asked with a raise of her brows.

Judith sheepishly averted her gaze.

Michonne thought they just might be in trouble. Or rather, Rick was going to be in trouble after his surprise tonight. The thought made her chuckle.

"Do you...think I'd be on Santa's nice list?" Judith asked, raising onto her toes. "If he was real?"

"Well...nice children don't secretly ask Carol for four more gingerbread cookies after being told they can't have any more. They don't lie about it when caught either. Speaking of which, let's go get daddy and Ava and see how Carl's treats came out."

Michonne got up and headed to the door, but she didn't hear a pair of feet behind her. She turned and saw that her pint-sized personality was leaning on the bed and staring at the floor with a long face.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"You think I'm naughty," Judith said sadly, her voice barely audible.

"Oh, baby, I was just teasing," Michonne said as she returned to her. She got on her knees and sat on her calves so that they could be eye-level. "I didn't mean it," she promised.

Judith lifted eyes full of emotion to look at her.

"If you ever are naughty, you know why that is? It's because you're just like me. Your daddy calls me a naughty girl all of the time."

"He does?" Judith asked.

"Mmm-hmm. He hasn't since I had Ava, because I've been taking care of her and being very good, but...sometimes I'm naughty." Michonne decided to end it there, because her innuendo was running out of steam. "You would absolutely be on Santa's nice list. But you shouldn't lie to me or dad or anyone else, and I do mean that. Okay?"

"Okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Judith answered with a smile.

"Okay, come on." She stood and took her hand, and they went to collect Rick and Ava.

* * *

All bundled up in the kitchen, Carl smeared icing on the sixth and last cinnabon as he swayed to the tune in his head. "I love those j-i-n-g-l-e bells. Those holiday j-i-n-g-l-e bells. Those happy j-i-n-g-l-e b-e-double-l-ls. I love those jingle bells all the way!"

He restarted the song from the top as he danced, hearing Frank Sinatra's smooth voice in his head, his first mother's favorite musician. He could see Lori dancing in his mind, even though his attention was on putting the butter, salt, and sugar in their place.

Although this was his birth mother's favorite holiday, his heart wasn't heavy with grief. It was hard to feel sad about not having a mother when he, well, had one and has had one for a while now. Not to mention, he had a new little sister to celebrate. He had a lot to be happy for.

His favorite thing about Christmas was having dessert for breakfast. He remembered being in the kitchen with his mom as she prepared the Christmas morning dessert of the year while he ran around playing with his newest toy. He remembered that Home Alone was the family's staple Christmas Eve movie. He remembered his mom dancing to Frank Sinatra and always telling him that she wouldn't have minded if his first words had indeed been Frank Sinatra.

When all of the communities, minus The Scavengers, had committed to having the Christmas spirit this year, his first thought had been to bake something. The thought had surprised him, and he'd ignored it at first, but then he'd decided that it would be a nice treat for his family. Except he didn't know how to cook. So he'd gotten permission to go to The Kingdom and learn from Carol.

The kitchen was warm from the open oven, and it smelled sweet and homey.

As he returned the eggs to the fridge, he heard his family coming down the stairs. Nervousness rolled through his stomach. He wasn't exactly a natural at baking.

"What'd you make?" Judith asked as she skipped into the kitchen. "Can we know now?"

"Cinnabons," he answered as he returned to the counter.

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's a type of dessert. It's very good." At least, it was supposed to be. "It's still pretty warm, so you can't have it yet."

Still, he grabbed two dish towels and picked up the baking tray. He lowered it for Judith to see the fat, fluffy treats.

She inhaled deeply. "It smells really good."

"I left some icing in the bowl for you to lick. I always liked doing that," he said.

"No icing," Michonne cut in. "She can lick it later. I don't want her getting sick just in time for the show tonight."

"Did you taste one?" Rick asked Carl.

Carl put the tray on the counter and went to kiss his youngest sister. "No, but, if it's good, I'll give one to Cyndie when she comes later."

Michonne and Rick shared an amused look. Cyndie lived in Oceanside, and Carl was crushing hard.

"So, we're your guinea pigs," Michonne asserted.

"Uh, kind of. But it won't matter if they're good. Go sit. I'll serve."

As the family situated themselves at the table, Carl retrieved four dessert plates. The corner of his eye caught white debris floating down outside of the window. When he looked, he realized that it was the first flurries of the winter season.

**End**


End file.
